Stained
by Feilyn
Summary: Annabeth has never baked cookies before. Percy decides to rectify this.


"But why," Annabeth says slowly, staring at him, "are they blue?"

Percy grins back at her. He's got a sprinkling of flour across the bridge of his nose, and his fingers are stained blue with food colouring. Apparently it's not proper cookie dough unless you make it from scratch and use your hands to mix. "If you can make them blue, why shouldn't they be?"

There are many people who might have been stumped by this logic, but not Annabeth Chase. "Because they're cookies."

And that should be enough, but Percy Jackson has never followed the rules. Especially not hers. So of course he snorts, reaching up with the back of his wrist to brush the flour off and just smearing more on. "That's not an answer. The cookies are blue because anything can happen."

_It is too an answer_, she wants to say, but even in her head it sounds childish. That's Percy's domain. "The cookies are blue because you put food colouring in the mixture," she says instead.

His eyes are brighter than the ocean on a summer's day, and they crinkle in the corners. "So you answered your own question."

Her answer, Annabeth realises belatedly, is not very satisfying. She might even go so far as to say she likes his better, but she'd never tell him that. There's a tilt to his smile that says he knows anyway, and the fact that she doesn't punch him for it reminds her, once again, that she is actually disgustingly in love with this boy. "Keep mixing, Seaweed Brain."

"Yes, ma'am." A hand flies up from the bowl to salute her, and this time she kicks him in the shins. One thing leads to another, of course, and after a few moments of fumbling she has him pressed up against the bench, her hands tangling in his hair as his grip her waist, under her shirt. Which is good, she thinks giddily as his lips ease over hers, slow at first but picking up, becoming more urgent. Because her shirt is white, and she doesn't think she wants to explain to her step-mother why there are blue fingerprints on it right there.

"Annabeth," Percy gasps, breaking the kiss and forcing her to bite back a moan of disappointment. "I'm supposed to be teaching you—"

She bites his lower lip instead, drawing a quiet groan from him. If her smirk is a little self-satisfied, she thinks she's allowed. "Sorry, what was that?"

Any other moment and the cookies might have been forgotten in favour of retiring to his bedroom and taking real advantage of having the apartment to themselves while his parents were out. But Percy can get strange about the things he gets determined about, and apparently he really wants Annabeth to know how to bake cookies. Especially blue ones. He untangles them carefully, pressing a kiss so gentle to her forehead that she has to tell herself those are definitely not tears.

It's such a stupid thing to get emotional about, but it's only Percy; if she's allowed to get emotional around anyone, it's probably him. The truth of the matter is that Annabeth Chase has never made cookies before, because her dad doesn't know how, and you couldn't have paid her money to get in a kitchen with her step-mother, and her real mom was a Goddess, and she ran away when she was seven years old. Chiron, as it turns out, isn't much of a baker.

What's weird is that Percy _is_. He doesn't do it a lot, apparently, and he needs to have someone else in the kitchen with him to keep him on track or else the dough ends up painted on the walls, but he does know how to bake, and he enjoys doing it. Annabeth had always thought she'd learn better by, you know, actually doing it, but Percy had insisted she just watch the first time. He plays it off like she'll learn better that way, but he doesn't know the first thing about teaching; she's pretty sure he just wants to make cookies.

Every time her attention's wandered, though, he's gently corralled her back to the bench, a glance out of those ocean eyes every few moments ensuring that she's paying attention. Part of the problem – and this is an issue she has with the whole apartment, not that she really minds – is that while everything in the kitchen can be classed as neat, it's always _different_. Between Percy and his mother, things get picked up, inspected, carried around the house and put down again somewhere entirely different. For someone who needs her regimented order to focus, it's a fascinating and sometimes frustrating distraction as she starts playing spot the difference with her memory.

"Annabeth." Percy's voice is a mix between gentle and amused. "Jeez, you're more ADHD than I am, today."

That's a feat. She opens her mouth to deny it, but she can't. And then she ends up standing there with her mouth open like an idiot, because she can't think of anything to say.

Percy grins, but there's something in his face that says he understands. Which is a relief, because she doesn't think her ego could stand explaining that the fact that he's teaching her how to _bake_ when no one else ever has, is actually making her fall deeper in love with him by the second.

"I'm done with these," he informs her, gesturing at a haphazardly arranged tray of cookie dough before he all but tosses it into the oven.

"Okay," she says dumbly. "I'm going to go have a shower, okay, I think you managed to get flour all over me as well s y—"

He cuts her off by grabbing her hand, dragging her back towards him. For a moment she thinks he's going to kiss her again, but then he takes her by the shoulders (or places his wrists on her shoulders so he doesn't stain her shirt) and steers her into his place. "Shower later. Baking now."

"How many cookies do we need?" she protests. It's not that she's _scared_, she'd really just prefer to have watched maybe three or four times, and actually have the instructions (preferably in Ancient Greek) in front of her to follow.

"We need as many cookies as it takes for you to get it right." And there's a smirk on his lips and a light in his eyes, and she _knows_ he's challenging her on purpose, but that doesn't make much of a difference to Annabeth. She narrows her eyes, kicks him in the other shin, and gets to work.

Percy, of course, can't help himself. He hovers over her, adding extra flour and salt, and finally whisks the bowl away from her to add in the proper amount of food colouring. She doesn't tell him, but she's honestly okay with him taking over that part – his hands are going to be blue for days, at this rate.

Plus, there's a look on his face. A certain contentment that, while it's more common now the world is no longer on his shoulders, she never gets tired of seeing. It's clear that he's got a lot of positive memories associated with this simple task, and she's quietly touched that he's willing to share that with her.

He makes her roll the dough into balls, though, and press them down with a fork. Her hands don't come up the dark blue his are, but there's a pale stain to them that's about ten kinds of metaphorical when you consider that blue is Percy's favourite colour.

They pull one tray out and slide the other in, and Percy drops to the floor in front of the oven to watch her cookies bake. After a moment's hesitation, she joins him.

"They look good," he says, as they rise and spread a little. If they were some other couple, he'd be looking at her when he said it, and she'd blush and duck her head or something. But they're them, so he's definitely looking at the cookies, and she feels a quiet glow of pride at the compliment. Damn right they look good.

He makes her decide when it's time to pull them out, hand her the oven mitts and getting out of the way. There are a few calculations she could make to figure out the optimum time for cookie removal, but in the end she just takes a wild stab in the dark and yanks them out at what she thinks is the same time Percy pulled his out after. Using a spatula, she carefully transfers them on to a cooling rack.

"So. How do you feel, Baker Chase?" Percy still has flour on his face, and for some reason that just makes her want to kiss him more.

Annabeth looks at him, before turning to cookies. They're definitely blue. She reaches out and takes a cookie, biting into it thoughtfully. They actually taste just like any of the other, non-blue cookies Sally Jackson has made, but she's not about to say that. They're good. Excellent job, Baker Chase.

Swallowing, she glances down at the hem of her shirt.

"I feel," she says slowly, and this time when she stares at him it's with something that's definitely not bewilderment, "like you got cookie dough on my hip." It's not really cookie dough, more like smears of cookie-flavour food colouring, but close enough.

Sea-green eyes darken. Still holding her gaze, he carefully removes the cookie from her hand and places it back on the rack.

"Guess I should do something about that, huh?" he remarks casually, keeping a hold of her hand and drawing her out of the kitchen.

She spares another glance for the cookies, and feels that quiet pride kindling in her gut alongside something else entirely at the look in her boyfriend's eyes. She did that, she made those. Well, barring a few interruptions from Percy Jackson, but that's her life now. "I guess you should."

It's a good life.


End file.
